


Sick

by charis2770



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Age Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Crying, Go do something else!, Gonna go donate everything I own to orphans as penance, I can't even put in enough warnings, I feel dirty, Incest, It is not too late to turn back, M/M, Oh god, Parent/Child Incest, Peppermint oil, Please go pet a puppy and do not allow this sickness into your brain, Punishment, Roleplay, See it gets worse, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Strapping, Switches, This is honestly just sick, This story has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, You probably shouldn't read it, disciplinary rape, hole spanking, paddles, pretend non-com, really - Freeform, very intense depictions of harsh punishment of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have no excuse. This is what happens inside my brain when I am stuck in the middle of a wretched several weeks of insomnia. I actually intended to only write it for myself and take it out and read it when I am feeling particularly crazed. But I have a curse. I love to see how you guys are going to react. If this is over the top, please do say so, and I will take it down.</p><p>This story is, for me, an AU. It does not coincide with the rest of my Avengers fics. Though in it Clint and Phil do have a D/s relationship, it's not the same kind and instead focuses on frequent 24/7 ageplay.</p><p>I have NOT decided how to handle Steve in my movieverse fics. This story doesn't go with them! It's a one-off (probably) about a poly relationship in which Phil and Clint have realized that Steve is indeed a gay man and does indeed have very similar needs and kinks to their own, and have seduced him to the dark side. The shit they do is raw, and harsh, and pretends to a kind of abuse none of them would ever consider in reality. It's written as though Clint and Steve are young boys (I don't know how young, whatever it feels like to you) and Phil is the Daddy who punishes them sexually. It's SLATHERED with triggers/ Just don't read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a work of fiction and is even fiction within fiction. It depicts acts of child abuse, sexual abuse, rape, and incest. IT IS A ROLEPLAY between consenting adults!! If these are triggers, DO NOT read it, because it reads like it's really happening until the end.
> 
> In a real life BDSM relationship, most of the acts in this story cross the line from safe and sane into risk behavior that I strongly advise against. I do think that most of us who are drawn to this lifestyle have a little of the eyes being bigger than the stomach syndrome when it comes to our fantasies. We kind of enjoy thinking about things that in reality we couldn't tolerate. The stuff in this story I have either done or seen done by people I don't consider irresponsible, but never all at the same time. Clint and Steve are superhumans, and they're just a lot sturdier than we mere mortals. In other words, DON'T try this at home, unless you tone it down a lot, in the name of not hospitalizing your partner or being hospitalized by them.
> 
> I can't even begin to justify this one. My brain is a depraved beast sometimes. I can't think of a single redeeming quality. Just so very, very wrong. I am going to say this again though....
> 
> DON'T DO STUPID THINGS THAT COULD BREAK YOUR LOVER
> 
> and
> 
> THIS IS AN AU FIC!!! No, it really is. Phil and Clint didn't dump Natasha and corrupt Captain America. It's just a stroll down a very dark lane in a very haunted forest in a kingdom where there are no morals whatsoever and everybody should probably not even be allowed to exist (including the author)

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” hollers Clint, dragging his feet as his daddy pulls him by the arm back to the big bedroom where Daddy sleeps.

“I know you’re sorry, baby,” says Daddy patiently, still not letting go, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you disobeyed me again today.”

Daddy drags him to the bedroom where he sits down on the edge of his bed and takes Clint into his lap, hugging him close. Clint buries his face in his daddy’s neck and whimpers.

“I didn’t mean to,” whimpers the little boy sorrowfully.

“That won’t do, Clint,” says Daddy gently. “Now I have to add telling a lie to your punishment.”

“NO, Daddy,” pleads Clint, squirming.

“Tell me what you did wrong, sweetheart.”

“I don’t wanna,” pouts Clint, still hiding his face.

“Clint,” says Daddy, unmistakable warning in his tone. When Daddy gets that tone, Clint had better obey him, and fast.

“I…I said a bad word,” whispers the little boy.

“A bad word?” asks Daddy.

“SOME bad words,” corrects Clint quickly. “An…and I said them yesterday too.”

“I’m disappointed, Clint,” says Daddy sadly, and Clint sobs a little. He’s not really crying, not yet, but he wants to. “What happened yesterday when you said those words?”

“Daddy!” whines Clint. Daddy’s fingers slide threateningly down the back seam of Clint’s shorts and he shivers. “You…you brought me back here….”

“Yes,”

“And…and I hadda lie down on my tummy on a pillow.”

“Then what?”

Clint blushes furiously, relieved Daddy isn’t making him look in his eyes.

“Then…then you pulled down my pants.”

“That’s right.”

“And y…you made me hold my bottom open. With my hands,” whispers Clint, feeling the same funny, squirmy feeling in his tummy that he always does when this happens.

“Go on,” says Daddy encouragingly.

“Oh Daddy,” whines Clint, “I don’t like to say it.”

“Obey Daddy please Clint, or you get three punishments today.” This makes Clint gasp in fear.

“No please,” he breathes. “I’ll tell you.”

“Okay baby, go on.”

“Then…you spanked me.”

“That’s not good enough, sweetheart,” says Daddy sternly.

“Ohh,” whimpers Clint, his face hot. “you…you spanked me on…on my hole. With your belt. It hurted so bad an’ I cried and cried.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I _screamed_ , Daddy, an’ I begged an’ begged you to stop, but you didn’t. You spanked my hole for so long and it was really bad.”

“I’m sure it was,” says Daddy kindly, stroking his strong hand down Clint’s back. “Keep going, love.”

“Then,” gasps Clint, squirming some more because he feels really funny inside, “then you put the slippery stuff on my hole and it hurted a lot when you touched it and I cried more, and you put in your finger and I begged you not to cause it burned in my bottom when you did that but you did it anyway and….and…” Clint’s breath hitches in his chest. “and you put your….your…”

“You can say it, baby, it’s all right,” says Daddy softly.

“Your…c…cock…into my bottom, inside my hole where you whipped me, and oh Daddy, it hurt me so bad and I cried and screamed. You didn’t stop, and it was really bad, Daddy!”

“If it was so bad,” muses Daddy, “then I wonder why you did the same thing today?” Clint’s eyes fly wide open as the meaning of his daddy’s words sink in.

“Daddy,” he cries in sudden fear, “you’re not gonna do the same thing today are you?” He starts to tremble.

“Not quite, love,” says Daddy in his warm, wonderful voice. Clint sighs in relief. It is short-lived. “Today after I whip your sore little hole hard again, and you are screaming and crying again, I am going to call your brother who you said bad words to, and he is going to come in here and I will let HIM spread your little cheeks open and put his cock into your punished hole.”

Clint feels as though he’s been punched in his tummy. He has seen Steve’s cock once before, when it was big and hard. Steve had someone do some stuff to him a long time ago, and it made him really strong and big. Everywhere. Steve’s penis is huge, even bigger than Daddy’s, and Clint’s poor little hole clenches in fear at the thought of that big, fat cock pushing into his sore, burning, swollen bottom hole. He bursts into tears against his daddy’s neck.

“Nooo,” he begs, “oh please Daddy, please don’t! I’m really sorry I said mean things to Steve,  just please don’t make him punish my hole that way! PLEASE Daddy! I promise, I’ll never ever do it again!”

“Hush, Sweetheart,” says Daddy, petting Clint’s head while he cries in fear. “You’ve had a very bad potty mouth lately, and that’s bad enough. But when you say mean dirty words to your brother and hurt his feelings and disobey me, you must be punished. You had your naughty little hole punished severely yesterday, and I would have thought that would have been enough to teach you to watch what you say. I thought that when simple spankings didn’t work, then punishing you on the parts of your body that related to the naughty words you said would help you remember. But still I walked by you boys’ bedroom today and heard you arguing about your legos. What did you say to Steve, Clint?”

Clint sobs and shakes his head, burrowing harder against Daddy’s neck. A sharp spank on his leg makes him cry out.

“Oh,” he gasps, “I’m sorry Daddy!” Another sharp slap on his leg makes him squirm madly and whine. “Okay, I’ll tell! I said…I said….oh Daddy, I don’t want to say it again, please?”

“That’s another punishment Clint, and I’m not going to tell you again,” says Daddy sternly. Clint bites his lip and tries to choke back his crying.

“He wouldn’t share the legos I needed to use to make my space ship and he said it was stupid and I got mad,” confesses Clint miserably.

“Yes,” says Daddy gently, “and your brother and I will be having a punishment session about sharing and being mean later.”

“You will?” sniffles Clint, brightening a little, even though it’s not very much because of what’s going to happen to him in a little bit. Part of what makes him miserable about being punished is that it’s not _fair_ when Steve was mean to him first if he’s the only one who gets in trouble. Of course, Daddy is always fair, so he probably shouldn’t have been worrying about that part.

“Yes,” says Daddy firmly. “Steve is going to have a very long, hard spanking on his bare bottom and legs with my belt. Don’t try to avoid answering me, Clint. You’re already getting two extra spankings before the main part of today’s punishment.”

“I’m sorry,” says the little boy quickly. “I….I got so mad, and I know I shouldn’ta Daddy, but I did, and I said Fuck you, you fuckin’ asshole.”

“That’s right, baby. And since you said asshole yesterday too, and got spanked on your asshole, then since you said it again today, you get your sore little hole spanked again. And since you said mean words to your brother, and also because you said worse words and more of them today, your punishment will be worse. Your brother’s cock is bigger than mine, and it’s going to hurt your little hole more, especially because it aches and hurts inside from yesterday’s punishment. I’m afraid it is going to be very hard on you, sweetheart, but I want my boys to be good and obey me, and that means you must be punished when you break the rules.”

“Yes Daddy,” whispers Clint tearfully.

Daddy stands Clint in front of him and gently takes off his little t-shirt (it’s his favorite one with Thor on it) and then pulls his shorts and underwear down over his hips and lets them slide to the floor. Clint’s still crying softly, because he knows this is gonna be really awful and he wishes he’d kept his stupid mouth shut.

“I’m going to take care of your punishments for lying to me and not answering me when I asked you a question first,” says Daddy sternly.

“Yes Daddy,” whispers Clint, trembling a little.

His daddy makes him bend over the end of the bed and lay his chest on its surface. This makes his hips jut upwards a little, elevating his bottom. Daddy gently taps his foot against the little boy’s legs until he spreads them out wide. Clint whimpers when he hears Daddy unbuckle his belt. The belt is wide and thick and heavy. Daddy keeps it supple with mink oil. Clint hears the faint jingle of his daddy wrapping the belt around his fist, knowing he will leave about two feet of thick black strap hanging down, and that Daddy never misses with the belt and that it is going to hurt very, very much.

“Why are you getting this spanking, Clint?” asks Daddy softly.

“B…because I s..said I didn’t mean to be bad, and you knew I did. I meant to say the bad words, Daddy, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you’re sorry, sweetheart. Twenty with the belt, all right?”

“Yes Daddy,” keens the sad little boy, pressing his face into the bedspread, putting his arms out to the sides like he knows his Daddy wants him to do, and not move them, to show he can accept his punishment like a good boy and not try to cover his bottom with his hands. He presses his palms against the comforter hard and hopes he can manage that.

Daddy never starts out slow or easy. When he punishes, he spanks hard. Very hard. The belt cracks against the little boy’s bottom loudly. It is so loud inside Clint’s head that he thinks it may deafen him. He cries out in pain and shudders. He’s very glad Daddy hasn’t told him he has to count, because he was crying before this spanking even started and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t manage. His tight little bottom hole is raw and sore from the whipping it got last night, and the heavy strap compressing the soft cheeks of his bottom make the raw skin inside rub, so the spanking hurts even more than usual. Daddy straps Clint’s bottom hard, from almost at the top of his cleft all the way down to his sit-spots and the tender crease where his backside meets his thighs, and that makes up five strokes. Six, seven, and eight are on the backs of his legs, and Clint howls in pain. Nine, ten, eleven and twelve go back up his legs and then Daddy straps his reddened cheeks again. After fifteen, Daddy pauses and lets Clint bawl and sob for a few minutes. His hand gently rubs the little boy’s lower back.

“I’m so sorry!” wails Clint. He’s shaking, because he knows where the last few spanks are going to go and he really, really doesn’t want them to.

“I know, baby,” says Daddy gently. “Keep your legs open very wide, okay?”

“Okay,” sobs Clint.

He feels Daddy kneel down behind him, and then the belt licks cruelly at his left inner thigh, up high where Clint’s skin is baby soft and very tender. It feels like fire between his legs. The last five strokes blister his inner thighs cruelly, and he screams after every one, sobbing breathlessly when Daddy finally finishes the spanking. He is picked up and cuddled close in Daddy’s lap, mewling a little when his spanked bottom comes into contact with his daddy’s pants, but squirming to get closer anyway. He gets to stay here like this until he stops crying, and he tries to keep that going as long as he can, because he knows that pretty soon after he stops, he’s going to be spanked again. Unfortunately, he can only wring tears out for so long, and pretty soon Daddy is setting him on his feet and reaching over to the bedside table to get the big, round, wooden-backed hairbrush from the bedside table. Clint’s hands go back unconsciously to cover his stinging bottom. The hairbrush hurts so much. He’s going to scream and beg and cry when Daddy paddles his bottom with it, and it makes him feel like a baby, but he can’t help it. His daddy lifts him up and tugs him gently over his lap, Clint whines softly in his throat and feels his ears grow hot with embarrassment. He can already feel himself getting hard against his daddy’s lap as his hips press against Daddy’s leg. He tries not to rock, but he can’t help doing it a little.

“Bad little boys don’t get to come,” warns Daddy softly. Clint gasps a little bit and stops moving. One time he came when Daddy had said it wasn’t allowed. Clint had been switched with a slender, delicate switch on his dick and balls while he howled in pain and pleaded for mercy. Then a thicker switch had covered him with welts from the top of his buttocks down almost to his ankles while he was tied to the bed so he couldn’t roll away. Then Daddy had put his cock into Clint’s little hole with hardly any lubrication at all, only a little bit of spit, and Clint’s poor hole had hurt so bad he’d nearly fainted, and he had screamed until his voice was hoarse. He doesn’t ever EVER want to do that again! Daddy rubs the hairbrush in a little circle against Clint’s bottom, and then pulls back. Clint tries not to tense up. It hurts worse when he clenches his bottom. But oh, it’s hard not to. Daddy brings the hairbrush down low on the little boy’s left cheek, then quickly on the right one too. The hairbrush stings Clint’s skin but also burns down deeper with the heft of its solid weight. His yowl of pain is piercing. When Daddy uses the hairbrush, he doesn’t draw things out. He paddles hard and fast, peppering Clint’s bottom and the backs of his legs with awful hot pain while Clint bawls and screams and squirms and kicks his feet. He doesn’t try to get away, but it hurts so much he can’t be still. Daddy’s arm is wrapped snug around his waist anyway, so he knows he won’t fall. Daddy had started to do it this way when after the dozenth time Clint had been given extra punishment for not being able to stay on Daddy’s lap he had collapsed on the floor in hysterics as he begged Daddy to listen. Daddy could tell Clint wasn’t being bad or trying to get out of his punishment, and when he understood that Clint’s little boy body couldn’t stand the speed and hurt of the spanking from the hairbrush and also be still, he had promised he would never punish him for moving then again. Clint tries extra hard to be very good and still the other times Daddy tells him to, because he just loves him so much, and because Daddy loves him too and listens to him when he really  needs to be heard. Daddy doesn’t count the number of spanks he gives with the hairbrush, he just spanks until Clint’s bottom and legs are so red and hot and marked up from the brush that he feels Clint has been punished enough. Then it is more cuddles and this time Daddy kisses the tears from Clint’s sweaty face and cards his fingers through Clint’s hair and tells him he’s a good boy. Clint wishes again that he could just cry and cry forever, because it’s one of Daddy’s rules that another punishment can’t begin until all the crying from the one before is over.

Clint really, really doesn’t want the next punishment to begin. He knows better than to pretend-cry though, because if he does and Daddy notices, he will be punished again before he goes over the pillows for his big punishment of the night, and since he’s already gotten the belt and hairbrush, it will probably be the switch, and then when he has to hold open his bottom for Daddy to whip his hole, his hands will sting the welts and make everything worse. Daddy gives him a little extra time, and even gets a cool washcloth from the bathroom, which he uses to gently wipe his boy’s tearstained face. It feels good on his swollen eyelids. Eventually though, the waiting is up and Daddy sets Clint off his lap and gets two pillows from the head of the bed and lays them in its center.

“Come on, sweetheart, lie over the pillows for me.”

Shaking with dread, Clint obeys, crawling onto the bed and carefully draping himself over the pillows so that they prop his hips up at the perfect angle for punishment. He’s already starting to cry again. Daddy sits down next to him and rubs his hand down Clint’s back to his bottom. The palm of his hand brushes gently over reddened skin, and his fingertips dip between the hot cheeks to stroke softy over Clint’s little pucker, making him gasp.

“Can you do this, baby boy? Can you keep your legs open wide and keep your bottom spread open and stay in position over the pillows?” Daddy’s voice is kind, and it makes Clint’s tears overflow and start to trickle down his face again.

“I don’t know, Daddy,” he whispers. “I’ll really try.”

“Would you rather have help, so you don’t make mistakes and have to get extra spanks on your hole?” Clint whimpers again.

“Yes, please,” he says in a tiny voice. He knows what Daddy means by the question, and he hates it, but he’s almost positive he’s going to be hurting so much that he’s going to mess up in at least one of those ways.

Daddy takes out two soft cotton ropes. He ties them to Clint’s ankles, making sure they’re not too tight, and then ties them to the bed’s footboard, spreading Clint’s legs very wide. Then he goes to the small chest in his closet that has some of the things he uses to punish his boys. He gets out an odd implement for a bedroom. It is a plastic spaghetti serving measurer. It is flat, about a foot long, and has holes of varying sizes down its length. The idea of it is to use these openings to measure how many servings of dry spaghetti you’re using, but Daddy never uses it for that.

“Spread your cheeks for me, Clint,” he says quietly, and Clint does, biting his lips against the urge to start begging now. Daddy presses the flat surface of the implement down between the little boy’s spread buttocks, centering the largest hole directly over Clint’s anus, which winks anxiously at the feel of the cool air and the chilly plastic touching it. The tool keeps his cheeks open and his hole exposed without Clint having to hold them. Daddy settles himself between Clint’s thighs and Clint starts to cry harder.

“Please, Daddy,” he whines. “Please. Don’t!”

“This is happening, baby boy,” says Daddy sternly. “Maybe next time you’ll remember not to say bad words to your brother.”

With that, Daddy commences whipping Clint’s small puckered hole with the tip of his belt. Clint screams and begins to plead frantically as his Daddy spanks and spanks his sore little hole. It hurts and burns so much Clint doesn’t think he can stand it.

“Please Daddy,” he bawls, “Please stop! It hurts, oh it hurts, I’ll be so good, I promise. Please, Daddy! Please, oh please!”

Daddy pays no heed to Clint’s begging, he just punishes the little boy’s tender, sore, swollen little hole for what seems like forever. By the time he stops, Clint’s a howling mess and his tiny little anus is a blazing hell of pain between his cheeks. For a few seconds, he’s not aware the whipping is over, not until he feels the cool trickle of a thin stream of lube  drizzle onto his hole. The measurer is taken away and Clint feels the pad of his daddy’s finger touch his miserable, painful hole. He sobs harder while Daddy pushes his finger inside his bottom.

“PLEASE!” he screams, “Please NO, Daddy! It hurts so bad, oh it hurts it hurts! Please Daddy, not this time, please don’t, I’ll  be good!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” murmurs Daddy. “I’ve told you what your punishment will be, and that is what’s happening.”

Clint sobs and begs and pleads while Daddy slicks up his hole very carefully. After a few minutes of slowly driving his finger in and out of the helpless boy’s blazing little hole, Daddy gets up and goes to the door. He opens it and puts his head out.

“Steve,” he calls, “Could you come back here, please?”

Clint hears Steve reply, a little distance away, and starts to whimper no, no nononono under his breath, crying harder and harder.

“Good boy,” says Daddy when Steve comes in. Steve looks earnestly at Daddy, his hands gripping each other nervously in front of him, his blue eyes darting to where Clint lays sobbing with his bottom up in the air.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” he asks, a little breathlessly.

“Come over here please,” says Daddy, holding out his hand to Steve, who shuffles over to the edge of the bed a little hesitantly.

“Are….” He gasps, “are you going to punish me now, Daddy?”

“No, sweetheart. That’s going to come later. You understand why I am going to have to spank you, don’t you?”

“Yes Daddy,” says Steve softly. “I wasn’t nice to Clint while we were playing, and I didn’t want to share. And m…maybe if I hadn’t been mean to him, he might not be getting p…punished now. Oh Clint,” whimpers Steve, and there is real sadness in his voice. “I’m so sorry!”

While Clint does hear this and dimly appreciates it, he’s crying way too hard to speak.

“Steve,” says Daddy gently, “it’s very nice that you’re sorry Clint’s being punished, and I’m proud of you for being able to be honest about your part in it, but both of you boys make your own choices, and you are not responsible for one another’s actions. When you didn’t want to share, Clint should have come to me, and every bit of this could have been avoided by talking things out. I know the adjustment of becoming a family isn’t easy, but it doesn’t have to be as hard as you two sometimes seem to love making it.  Now, because Clint has repeated an infraction for which he was just punished yesterday, the consequences are going to have to be worse. Steve…do you know what happened to your brother last night?”

Steve turns bright red to the roots of his hair.

“Yes Daddy,” he whispers. “Do I….do you need me to hold his hands or something?”

“I need you to fuck him, sweetheart.”

“Now?” asks Steve, his voice miraculously managing to make it through about six octaves in one syllable.

“Yes,” says Daddy. “Now.”

“Daddy please,” gasps Steve, sounding terrified, “I can’t!”

“Why can’t you?” asks Daddy curiously.

“It will hurt him!”

“Yes, it will.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” exclaims his brother, appalled. “I love him!”

“Do you think that I don’t?” asks Daddy, and the thread of menace in his tone is not lost on Steve.

“Of course not,” he hurries to reassure. “You love us more than anything, Daddy. But it…it’s a daddy’s job to punish, not another boy’s. I…I don’t think I’d be _able_ to do it. Please Daddy!”

“You’re a good boy, Steve,” says Daddy fondly. “And I’m glad to hear that you want to protect rather than harm your brother. But he needs a lesson badly, and you can help him learn it in a way I obviously haven’t. Are you trying to tell me that you would defy my wishes on this, or that you don’t believe you’ll be capable of….performing…out of concern for his well-being?”

“The second one,” admits Steve, blushing even more deeply, if that’s possible. “I…I don’t like the idea, but I wouldn’t go against you, Daddy. Plus also I know you still gotta spank me and I wouldn’t want to give you any more reasons! I’m sorry, sir, I just don’t think I can….get, you know, ready. To do it.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart. Come sit beside me on the bed. No, right here next to me, between his legs. Good boy,” says Phil, and Clint feels the bed sag a little more under Steve’s weight.

“Is this all right, Daddy?”

“Yes honey, you’re fine right there. Now I want you to look at your brother, really look closely at him.”

“Yes Daddy.”

“He’s lovely, don’t you think?”

“I….,” Steve swallows almost audibly, “yes Daddy, he is.”

“You can touch him if you like. Haven’t you ever wondered, Steve, how his skin would feel under your fingers? Wondered if it feels soft or rough, wondered if he’s sensitive anywhere, if he’d quiver and sigh for you?”

“Daddy,” whines Steve.

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy wants his boys to love each other. I’m not going to be angry if you’ve thought about it, about him, that way.”

“Yes,” breathes Steve. Clint flinches when he feels cool, blunt fingertips graze the back of his thigh. He’s a little sore there, but the insistent and horrible throbbing of his poor little hole has made him forget about the earlier spankings. Steve’s fingers reawaken the sting on his leg. He muffles a whimper.

“I love that sound,” whispers Daddy. “He sounds so sweet, so helpless when he makes that little whine.”

“Yeah,” agrees Steve, his voice soft and breathy. The fingers trickle over his legs, stroke gently on the insides of his thighs, which makes him sob again a little bit.

“That one too,” hisses Daddy. “It’s okay if you like it, Steve. The pain in his voice, the way he trembles and aches when you touch him.”

“I can feel the welts on his legs,” whispers Steve. “Wow. His skin’s so hot, Daddy. You spanked him really hard.”

The touch drifts higher, and Steve’s fingers explore the cheeks of his spanked bottom. He squirms and mewls helplessly into the bedspread.

“If you think he feels hot there, look at this,” their daddy whispers back. Clint’s crying cranks back up to sobbing when he feels Daddy’s hands on his bottom, spreading him open.

“God,” breathes Steve. “Daddy, his hole…it’s so red and swollen.”

“Do you want to touch it, sweetheart? Feel how hot and tight it is? I’ve already slicked him up…”

Clint howls in pain when his brother’s thick finger slides into his whipped hole. Steve makes a sound in his throat that is as much hunger as it is surprise. The little boy squeals and writhes as his big brother fingers him deeply, fascinated by Clint’s sobs and pleas for mercy.

“Daddy,” gasps Steve in a strangled voice. “I want…do you really want me to…can I?”

“Yes, love. I want you to finish your brother’s punishment. After all it was you he spouted all those naughty words at, so it’s fitting. One thing though, Steve.”

“Yes Daddy?”

“You can’t have mercy on his little hole, no matter how much he cries or begs. You must use him quite hard, and makes sure he is very punished. Can you do that?”

“I can now,” sighs Steve, and Clint’s desperate begging erupts from his throat when he feels the fat head of Steve’s cock press against his burning, sore anus. He babbles and pleads for Steve not to do it.

“Please don’t, please! Oh please, Steve! My hole hurts so bad, please please don’t!”

“I have to,” says Steve softly. “Daddy says so. I’m sorry It hurts you, Clint.”

“NOOOOOO,” shrieks the smaller boy when his brother’s thick cock pushes into his raw little ass. Even with the generous amounts of lube his daddy has applied to his hole, Clint is too tight and too swollen for Steve’s rather impressive erection to slide all the way in. Steve pushes with his hips and the fat mushroom head of his cock spreads the throbbing, puffy tissues of Clint’s entrance out around his intruding member. Clint yells and pleads with Steve to please PLEASE not put it in anymore. He turns his tear-blinded eyes to where his daddy sits and begs him not to let brother hurt Clint anymore. Steve eases back until the head of his cock is only resting against the little boy’s beaten hole, then he pushes back in again, opening Clint a little bit wider and sinking in another inch. Clint claws at the comforter and bawls. Again Steve’s hips rock back, withdrawing from his little brother’s anus almost all the way.

“Steven,” says Daddy softly. “This is meant to be punishment.”

“Do you want me to give him all of it?” pants Steve, his voice tight with strain. Clint knows that sound, Daddy’s voice sounds that way when he’s using Clint’s hole and it’s tight and good and he likes the way Clint whimpers or cries or begs. When he’s not being punished, Clint likes it when Daddy puts his cock in Clint’s bottom, even though it always hurts a little bit. But when he’s being punished, it hurts so much he can’t help but scream and cry for real. Daddy, he thinks, likes this just about as much as he likes the quiet little whimpers and moans of Clint’s pleasure. Now, it seems, Steve likes it too.

“Yes sweetheart,” says Daddy, and Clint moans in fear.

“Please,” he begs desperately. “Please no!”

“This is going to hurt so bad, Clint,” whispers Steve in his ear, and he SHOVES his cock all the way inside Clint’s miserable little hole, forcing it open wide. It feels like he’s been torn, like his insides don’t have room for how big Steve is, or how much his sizeable cock hurts the smaller boy’s anus. He shrieks in agony, trembling and shuddering with sobs. His screams fill the house as, hands holding tight to Clint’s hips, Steve proceeds to fuck his sore, punished hole. It’s so much bigger than their daddy that Clint feels like he’s being torn in half. He screams and begs and cries until his voice is hoarse, after the first few minutes he changes over to begging Steve to come, so that it will be over. Unfortunately, whatever the experiments were that people did on Steve before he came here and became part of their family gave Steve enormous amounts of stamina.

“Do I have to come quick, Daddy?” Steve asks through gritted teeth.

“No, love,” says Daddy fondly. “You may make it last as long as you like. Watch out for blood though. If you harm him and do not stop immediately, I am going to buy a strap-on bigger than your lovely cock and let him fuck you with it for as long as I tell him to.”

Steve’s rhythm stutters at the threat, and he pauses. Clint feels a finger trace the tightly stretched skin that quivers around Steve’s cock and he groans. It burns, but that soft stroke feels good too. Clint doesn’t want to, MUST not come, because he knows the pain inside his bottom right now would be nothing compared to how his hole and his private parts would suffer if he did. Having made sure that Clint is not bleeding, Steve slowly drags his cock back out of the punished hole beneath him and pauses for a moment while Clint pleads with him to come. Then Steve shoves back inside Clint very hard and resumes the harsh fucking. It lasts for a really long time, until Clint’s voice is nearly gone and he has no tears left to cry but still shudders and sobs with dry eyes, occasionally softly begs Steve to stop, promising to be a good boy. He feels his skin starting to grow cold, and it’s a little hard to keep his eyes open, which is sort of weird when he’s hurting this much. He shivers hard and grits his teeth to keep them from chattering.

“Steve, I think he’s had enough. He’s getting a little shocky. Go ahead and come now,” says Daddy, and Steve breathlessly agrees. After a second, he makes a frustrated sound.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Daddy,” he whines. “I think I maybe went too long. I….I really wanna come, Daddy, but do you want me to just stop?”

“I think I know what you need,” says Daddy wisely. “You’re enjoying fucking your naughty little brother, but in your heart you wish it was you feeling this, don’t you? You need to be punished, Steve, hard and often. It’s what makes you feel loved and cared for.”

“Yes, Daddy,” whispers Steve. Then suddenly he lets out a pained yelp. Clint is able to drum up enough curiosity to look back over his shoulder a little. Daddy’s hand is out of sight behind Steve, and from the way Steve squeezes his eyes shut in pain and moans, he can tell that Daddy has probably shoved his finger into Steve’s hole, dry, so it hurts a little. Daddy is on his knees next to Steve, and he starts to murmur to him.

“It will be your turn next, love,” he hisses. “Strip you naked and make you get on your hands and knees. Press your face and chest to the bed, arch your back and push that pretty bottom up for me, spread your legs as wide as you can, so I can see your little pucker and your cock dangling down between your legs. I’ll cuff your hands behind your back. And I’ll punish you so hard, baby. I’ll whip you with my belt until your bottom and your legs are raw and welted, until you’re sobbing and crying for me like little boys are supposed to when they get spanked.”

“Ohhhhh Daddy,” groans Steve, fucking into Clint’s hole harder, which makes Clint try to drum up a creditable scream. All that comes out is a wounded sound that isn’t even sane.

“Are you going to come, sweetheart? Fill your baby brother’s punished hole up with your spunk? Will I need to get the crop out when I punish you, Steve, if you can’t be still? If I have to do that, you’re going to be a very sorry little boy. I’ll use it on the insides of your thighs and the bottoms of your feet and the back of your calves. I’ll have to sting your little hole too, and give your balls and your red cock some stings too, while you cry and cry. Think of it, Steve. Think how it _hurts_ when the leather slapper on the end of the crop bites your tight hole or your soft tender private parts. Just think….”

“OHH God,” groans Steve loudly, his fingers convulsing on Clint’s hips as he hauls him back to meet his final cruel thrust, holding their bodies pressed close together as his cock spasms and he fills Clint’s hole with come. He pulls out of Clint’s shaking body very carefully when he is finished, and after Daddy removes the ropes, lifts the drained, crying little boy up so that Daddy can take the pillows away and they can lower Clint gently to his side and snuggle him in between them. Clint cries for a long time, finally subsiding to the occasional hiccup.

“I’m sorry I was bad, Daddy,” he whispers in a wrecked voice. Daddy leans in and kisses him softly.

“Thank your brother, sweetheart,” he says gently. Clint whimpers, but he looks over his shoulder at Steve.

“Th…thank you for…p…punishing me,’ he whispers brokenly. “I’m suh…sorry I said mean things to you.”

“I’m sorry I was mean to you too, Clint,” says Steve, looking sincere, and only partly because he’s probably going to be getting his own punishment pretty soon.

Daddy reaches for the bedside table and gets the little jar of healing ointment a friend of his created for him. It really does have a remarkable effect on surface contusions and minor traumas. He and Steve spend several minutes smoothing the ointment into Clint’s welts and scrapes. It feels really, really nice, and he feels his dick start to wake up a little at their soft touches. Then Daddy turns him back on his tummy and he whines. This part is going to make him feel a lot better a lot sooner than if Daddy didn’t do it, but Clint’s hole is so sore, so fucked out, so raw and swollen, that he’s scared for Daddy to do it. He starts to cry again when Daddy’s finger gently strokes his hole. It’s not as agonizing as the whipping or the fucking, but his hole aches and throbs, and the lightest touch causes him pain. Daddy is very tender and patient, but he does not stop, and Clint cries softly while his hole is carefully coated with the soothing ointment (which smells very nicely of cedar and green growing things). By the time Daddy is finishing, Clint’s hips are rocking and his cock is hard. Daddy notices of course, and chuckles softly.

“Can you come, baby boy, from my finger inside your sore little hole?”

“I think so Daddy,” pants Clint, crying out in pain and sobbing a little when Daddy presses his whole finger down inside the little boy’s swollen anus. Clint shudders and gasps and whines until Daddy’s finger brushes oh, so gently, over his sweet spot inside his bottom. Then he sucks in his breath and pleads suddenly and frantically. “Please! Please NOW, Daddy?”

“Come for me, Clint,” whispers Daddy. “Come now, that’s my good boy.”

Clint’s pleasure swamps him, nearly suffocating in its intensity, and his howl as his hole clamps down and clutches convulsively at Daddy’s finger is as much pain as it is release. He shakes and cries in Daddy’s arms with Steve’s hands stroking his back and the muscles of his arms and being very careful not to touch him anywhere that hurts.

“You’re beautiful, Clint,” whispers Steve. “Isn’t he, Daddy?”

“Yes baby, he is beautiful,” agrees Daddy, pressing a kiss to Clint’s forehead and then his lips. Clint wriggles a little in pleasure, then stops suddenly, wincing in pain as raw flesh tugs when he squirms. He hides the smile on his face in the comforter, whimpering.

“I….,” says Steve uncertainly. “I didn’t hurt you…to much….did I?” he asks, looking worried.

Clint lifts his head and grins crookedly at Rogers over his shoulder.

“We told you I could take it rough,” he says, cocky and bemused. “And you’re messing up the game if you say shit like that, you know.”

“You’re a very sick man, Clint,” says Steve, shaking his head. Clint raises up on one elbow and looks down at where the super soldier lies next to him, naked and all beautiful tawny skin and thick muscle and earnest blue eyes.

“I’m a sick man?” he says in amusement. “Steve,” he leans close, almost close enough to kiss, “you’re next. He’s going to do all of it, Steve. Ohh big brother, Daddy’s gonna whip you so hard, gonna make you bawl like a little boy, make you call him Daddy while he slaps your cock with the crop, while he fucks you into the mattress.”

Steve’s eyelids flutter a little and he cannot conceal either the eager twitch of his hips or the soft moan of hunger. Clint smiles and leans the rest of the way in to make the kiss a reality. “Who’s a sick man?” he mutters into Steve’s mouth

“Me,” sighs Steve.

“Thank God,” says Phil.

“Fuck yeah,” whispers Clint.


	2. Sick Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clint and their Daddy have a weekly tradition. On Fridays, each boy must make a list of all the things he feels he's done wrong during the preceding week, then they present their lists to Daddy together, and he decides how they should be punished. They have to try very hard to remember everything, because if they don't, and Daddy remembers anything they've left off....the punishment is even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this chapter is dedicated to one of my awesome, amazing followers who commissioned it from me, and I'm so very grateful to them. You know who you are, my dear, and I hope it fits what you had in mind.
> 
> Okay. This chapter IS a sequel to the original, but it's NOT precisely an exact follow-up to it, even though I got some requests for what happened to Steve the next day. This takes place some indeterminate amount of time later, but not too long. Still, for those of you twisted fuckers out there like me who enjoyed chapter one, I don't think you'll be too disappointed. 
> 
> And I want to reiterate again that, while this story depicts unspeakable things being done to minor children by their adult parent, it is STILL a roleplay between three consenting adults! Three very kinky, twisted adults, but still ADULTS. Don't do stuff to minors. If you do, I hope you rot in prison. I hear they don't like child molesters there. HOWEVER, having fantasies like this does NOT make you a pedophile, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. Ageplay isn't about that. It's about relinquishing control, letting go of responsibilities, and putting yourself totally in someone else's hands, or of taking care of another in ways you may not be able to in real life, or just about being kinky. All of those are okay.
> 
> I still feel SO DIRTY writing this shit, omg. Please be gentle, these fantasies are a little rough to post. I want to go out and save homeless puppies to redeem myself. Or hide under the covers for a couple of months and not tell you how much the more depraved parts of me got a kick out of writing things this extreme. I also love torturing pretty boys. Evil, evil Charis. 
> 
> Again, and again, and again....BDSM is about trust. Don't do stuff this intense to people without a lot of talking, and working up to it, because a great deal of it would probably be too much for most people. Not all. I have known my share of folks who could not only handle it, but revel in it. But you should never assume your partner is one of them. Communicate, and get to know each other well before you engage in riskier, more intense forms of kink. Employ safewords, and USE them, and RESPECT them. 
> 
> Also, I have an Avengers blog now!! As well as one about me as a writer, and my mission and stuff, which has links to all my blogs and that kinda stuff! Find them here:
> 
> Charis2770.tumblr.com  
> 1-800-Askavengers.tumblr.com
> 
> Kay, I guess I'm about done now. I'm going to bleach my brain. You should probably do the same if you read this shit. And donate to charity. And adopt a kitten. Or, y'know, jerk off. Whatever. Kbai.

It is Friday. Fridays are the hardest day of the week. The two boys bent studiously over their small desks  _ understand _ Fridays, and why they exist, but that doesn’t make them easier. Friday, always Friday and not Saturday or Sunday. So they could enjoy the rest of the weekend together, and have fun, and be good boys again. Good boys get ice cream and lots of movies and blanket forts in the living room and hamburgers cooked on the grill and so, so much fun with Daddy. But before they could be good boys and have those things, Friday comes first. 

 

“Are you almost done?” Clint whispers, leaning over close to where Steve sits, frowning at his little notebook, tapping his pencil against its page and frowning.

 

“I think so,” Steve whispers back. “I’m just trying to make sure I thought of everything, y’know?”

 

“I know.” Clint shivers a little. They always try to think of everything. They try really hard, because if you leave something out, and it’s something  _ Daddy _ remembers, then it’s really bad. Not that it’s not going to be bad anyway, but leavings things out is worse.

 

It has been a tradition for a while. Daddy’s idea, a way to try to help them remember to be good during the week. Every Friday, Steve and Clint must report to Daddy’s office and confess to him all the naughty things they’ve done the previous week. Daddy decides how they must be punished for each transgression, and metes out those punishments with ruthless efficiency. Woe betide any boy who leaves something off of his list, because Daddy keeps a list as well, and if they’ve forgotten to include any sin, then the punishment for that is much worse than if they are honest, and confess everything. Clint’s bottom clenches reflexively in his shorts, and he squirms a little on the hard bench of his small student desk, ones Daddy had found at a flea market and brought home for their rooms just for this purpose. 

 

Daddy had chosen Friday for this day of reckoning….that’s what he calls it, their day of reckoning, because he doesn’t believe in ending the week on a bad note. He does it this way so their weekends don’t have a dark cloud of worry hanging over them, as they would if he’d chosen Sunday for this. He’s the best Daddy in the whole world, and his boys love him so much for this, because even though Friday’s are hard, so hard, their Saturdays and Sundays are  _ awesome. _ Almost always completely awesome. Even if one (or both) of them misbehave a little on Saturday or Sunday, the punishment for it is never very severe, because it will be dealt with on the next Friday  _ for reals. _ Unless it’s something really bad, and then it’s a different story, but because they love weekends with their Daddy so much, Clint and Steve are almost never  _ really _ bad on those days. 

 

“Okay, I think I’m done,” says Steve finally. Clint gulps a little as they stand up and, clutching their notebooks in sweaty hands, make their way to the big, dark-stained wooden door to Daddy’s office. Clint reaches out, and Steve takes his hand, smiling down at him. It’s a little wobbly, but it helps to know that Steve’s nervous too, even though he’s older and so much bigger and braver than Clint.

 

“I love you Steve,” whispers the little boy, wishing his voice didn’t quaver so much, wishing he could make Steve feel better. 

 

“I love you too,” Steve says back, and it helps. A little. Not very much though. Because then they’re in front of the great big walnut door, and it’s time. Steve reaches up to knock, quietly, tentatively, almost like he hopes Daddy won’t hear and they’ll be able to go away and not have to open the door and go inside. But of course, Daddy has really good hearing. Daddy is good at everything. 

 

“Come in,” says his voice from the other side, muffled a little by how heavy the door is, but they can’t pretend not to hear. Clint did that once, a while back, so that Daddy had to get up and come open the door himself and  _ look _ for them. That...had turned out to be a pretty bad idea. They open the door.

 

Daddy’s office is cool and not too bright. A lamp with a green glass shade lights his desk, and another tall lamp in one corner with a dark burgundy shade are the only sources of illumination. The heavy red velvet curtains over the window are drawn. Daddy’s office feels very  _ official. _ The boys know that Daddy is a Very Important Man. He helps save the world a lot, so he has an office at home as well as at his work. The rug on the hardwood floor is an antique Persian carpet. It feels thick and soft under their bare feet, and covers most of the floor. There’s a soft leather sofa and two heavy, wooden chairs with leather seats in front of Daddy’s desk, and maps on the wall as well as paintings from very famous artists who are mostly all dead, and awards and plaques and medals framed in glass boxes that Daddy had earned. One of them even came from the President of the United States. 

 

The chairs are pulled back a little bit from where they usually sit, and in front of them are two low foot stools. Those are not usually here. They’re only for Fridays. For Punishment Day, and seeing them makes Clint’s tummy feel twisty and weird. 

 

Daddy sits at his desk, writing something in his own notebook. He looks up when they come over to stand in front of his desk, and he smiles when he sees them holding hands. Daddy likes it when his boys get along. Sometimes they don’t, and that makes Daddy sad, and sometimes mad too. When Clint and Steve fight, the punishment for  _ that _ doesn’t wait for Friday. Clint squirms a little, remembering the last time. Oh, it had been so terrible! He digs his bare toes into the carpet and tries not to shiver. At least there had been no fights this week (not real ones, he tells himself), because even though Daddy always punishes them really bad when they do fight, that has to go on the lists too, and they’re punished again on Fridays.

 

“Do you have your lists ready?” Daddy’s voice is deep and kind. He’s never loud or mean, even when Steve and Clint do bad things. He never, ever makes them doubt that he loves them very much, even when he has to punish them lots. 

 

“Yes Daddy,” they both say, sounding breathless. 

 

“Okay, let’s see,” says Daddy solemnly. “Steve?”

 

Steve always goes first, because he’s the oldest. He lets go of Clint’s hand and opens his notebook. He takes a deep breath. It sounds kind of shuddery. He glances up at Daddy out of his pretty blue, blue eyes. Daddy nods encouragingly, and Steve starts to read.

 

“On...on Monday I was late getting up. I was sleepy and I wanted to stay in bed a little longer, so I didn’t get up when my alarm went off and you said it was time for breakfast, so you had to come and get me, and it almost made us all late,” begins Steve. Steve’s voice is lower than Clint’s, but it sounds softer and even younger when he reads his list of sins for the week before. They both hate disappointing Daddy. “On Tuesday I argued with my friend Tony at school, and I said some mean things to him. I called him dumb, and said he was annoying and to go away. I hurt his feelings. On Wednesday, I didn’t study hard enough for a test so I didn’t get an A on it, I only got a B, and even though that’s not a bad grade, I knew that if I’d studied, I would have gotten a better grade. And...and when you asked if I’d done my best, I said yes. But that wasn’t true, Daddy. I...I lied and I’m so sorry.” Clint can see that Steve looks like he’s about to cry. Lying to Daddy is one of the worst things they can do. Daddy frowns a little bit when he hears this. Clint feels sorry for Steve, but not too much, because he has his own list and there are a couple of bad things on it too. Steve takes a deep breath and goes on. “On Thursday, I didn’t eat all my lima beans at dinner. I gave some of them to Daisy.” Daisy is their dog, and she loves lima beans. She loves almost any kind of people food, except celery, but that’s okay because Clint and Steve like celery. “But Daisy isn’t supposed to have people food, only dog food. And….and I said a swear word this morning,” whispers Steve, blushing. His voice gets even softer. “It was the D one.”

 

“Is that everything, Steve?” asks Daddy. He always asks this. It probably isn’t  _ meant _ to sound menacing, but it somehow always does just the same, and sends the boys’ minds racing for a minute to desperately try to remember if there’s anything they’ve left out.

 

“I think so, Daddy,” says Steve.

 

“Okay. Thank you, Steve. Clint, it’s your turn.”

 

Clint huffs out a shaky sigh and looks down at his notebook. His handwriting is awful, all blocky and crooked and with plenty of misspelled words. Daddy doesn’t care about that, but sometimes Clint feels dumb compared to Steve, even though he’s older and has had more school, so it’s silly to feel that way. It’s so hard to start. His tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. Daddy just waits patiently for Clint to unglue it, but he knows that patience isn’t infinite. His fingers clench around the pages and he forces himself to begin.

 

“This week I....one day I talked back to one of my teachers. They wanted me to do a problem in front of the class and I was afraid I’d get it wrong and everybody would laugh at me, so I said I didn’t want to. And….and I didn’t want to put my toys away earlier this week an’ I argued with you about it. And...and the other night when I was outside playing an’ you called me to come to supper an’ I didn’t come an’ I said it was because I didn’t hear you, that wasn’t true. I did hear you, I was just having a really good time an’ I didn’t wanna stop playing yet. I said bad words too, only it was two times, not just once. And I also didn’t finish my chores on time one day because I wanted to watch that movie on television so they didn’t get done and I had to stay up later than I was supposed to. To finish them.” The little boy clasps his hands even more tightly around the notebook and hangs his head.

 

“Is that all?” The same question, to Clint this time, who nods breathlessly. Daddy sits back in his chair. He’s quiet for a few minutes.

 

“You both did a pretty good job this week. I know it’s hard to be honest about all the naughty things you do, and it makes me very proud of you when you try so hard.” Steve and Clint smile tentatively, warmed by the praise. Then Daddy’s face hardens a little. “But,” he continues, and their faces freeze, stomachs falling as dread rises. “You both left something out, didn’t you?”

 

Shamefaced, they glance at each other, and then the floor. It had been earlier this morning, just after getting up, before they’d even gone down to breakfast, and they’d thought that surely there’d be no way Daddy would know. But they should both know by now that Daddy always knows everything. It never occurs to them that he could be trying to trick them, merely fishing. Daddy would never do that to them.

 

“It was only a  _ little _ one,” protests Clint in a small voice.

 

“That doesn’t matter, and you know it, Clint,” says Daddy softly. “You boys are not allowed to fight. You thought you could keep it a secret and only confess that you said some bad words, but that’s not acceptable and you both know it.”

 

Steve and Clint hang their heads even lower. Tears prick at the corners of Clint’s eyes, because he knows what this will mean. Daddy saves any punishment for things they’ve left off of their lists for last, and it is always the worst one. It had really been a small argument, and only happened because they’re both always really tense and nervous on Friday mornings. Oh,  _ why  _ hadn't they just told Daddy the truth?

 

“We're sorry, Daddy,” they whisper forlornly.

 

“You’re good boys,” says Daddy gently. “And I know you love each other, almost as much as I love you. That will never change. But when you do naughty things, I have to punish you, as much as I may wish I could just let it go. Alright.” He stands up slowly from his desk. Steve and Clint look at each other a little desperately, feeling the sick, funny feeling in their tummies they both always get when they know it’s time, and Daddy is going to spank them. “Take off our clothes and get in position.”

 

There’s no arguing with this, no protests or begging as they sometimes do, because Fridays are inevitable and they’ve both learned the hard way that trying to avoid it only makes it worse. Slowly and clumsily, they both take off their clothes, folding each article the way they’re expected to do and stacking them on the seats of the chairs behind them. Reluctantly, and with jerky, uncoordinated movements, they kneel, side by side, on the padded foot stools. Sliding their knees wide, they bend over and place the palms of their hands on the floor, then bend over even farther to fold their elbows and lay their heads on their crossed arms.

 

Oh, the position is so exposing, so terribly vulnerable. The stools are each around a foot tall. With their knees on the stools and their heads nearly on the floor, it thrusts their bare bottoms up very high in the air, stretching them out and forcing their knees wide so they won’t topple over. This spreads them open in a way that is both horridly embarrassing and scary, every part of them bared for punishment. And since they had not been completely honest, no part will be.

 

On Fridays, Daddy doesn’t punish them one at a time. He carefully weighs and balances their confessions. Each misdeed will be punished separately, but he tries very hard to find an equality from amongst their lists so that they can bear each stage together. He always starts with the smallest ones first.

 

“Steve, for not getting up on time so that I had to take time out of my very busy morning to come get you, and Clint, for not finishing your chores on time and staying up past your bedtime,” Daddy says quietly, “Ten strokes with the round paddle.”

 

They don’t respond. They’re not expected to. Clint closes his eyes and tries to brace himself. The round paddle isn’t  _ too _ bad. It’s a large oval, made of some kind of light-colored wood. It’s wide enough to cover almost all of a boy’s bottom. It stings terribly, of course. All the things Daddy spanks with hurt a lot, but since it’s wide and not very thick, and has no holes in it, the sting is kind of spread out everywhere. Daddy stands in the middle between the two kneeling boys. He lays the paddle gently against Steve’s upturned bottom. Clint gasps a little when he feels the small whoosh of air and hears the loud SMACK of the wood colliding with his brother’s bare skin. Steve cries out softly. Then Clint shivers as the paddle comes to rest on his own naked backside. The wood feels cool as it rubs up and down for a moment. It vanishes, and he tries not to tense up. It always hurts so much more if you clench, and he knows that, but he can never seem to help it. Hot, prickling, stingy pain erupts all over his bottom when Daddy spanks the paddle down hard. 

 

“Ohh,” he whimpers. His knees shift on the stool. He can’t help it. But it’s okay. They’re allowed to move a  _ little _ , because Daddy knows they can’t help it. He knows sometimes their knees will get a little stiff even though the stools are padded, and knows sometimes they have to move to keep their balance when the spanking is particularly hard, and that sometimes it hurts so  _ much _ that almost no little boy in the world could keep from wriggling or squirming at least a little bit...but woe betide any boy who tries to escape, or get off their stool or tries to evade his punishment. If either of them does that, the spanking will start over from the very beginning, with their knees and ankles tied to the foot stool so they can’t get away, and will be twice as hard. It has been a long time since either Clint or Steve has tried any of those things.

 

The paddle comes down, ten times, one at a time, switching back and forth between them. Clint is sniffling and breathing hard when it’s done, tears in his eyes but not quite really crying yet, and he can hear Steve doing the same thing next to him. Daddy takes a moment to put the paddle away and pick up something else.

 

“Steve, for feeding Daisy your lima beans...because even though lima beans aren’t bad for dogs, little boys don’t always know what  _ might _ be bad for them, and someday something you fed her could make her sick and that’s why it is against the rules... and Clint, for arguing about cleaning up your toys, twenty strokes with the belt.”

 

Clint whimpers a little at this. He can’t help it. Daddy’s belt stings awfully bad. He always uses it a little bit on their legs too, and it just hurts so much when the thick leather wraps around his soft inner thighs. But he bravely keeps his legs open wide and waits for Daddy to begin. The belt cracks down, and Steve yelps a little. Clint does too, when a band of hot pain snaps across both cheeks of his bare bottom. Daddy covers their backsides with stroke after stroke of painful stings, starting at the top and working his way down. By the time he reaches the tops of their thighs, Clint is crying. He howls when the leather licks around his left leg to bite at the baby-soft skin of his inner thigh, panting hard until it’s his turn again and the other thigh gets an identical hard lash of the belt.  It sets his legs on fire from the crease of his bottom down to the middle of his thighs. He’s crying very hard by the time all twenty strokes are delivered. He thinks Steve is too, but it’s hard to hear him very well over his own sobbing.

 

Daddy waits until they both quiet down a little bit before he says anything else. He always waits, if they’re getting punished for more than one thing, to start the next spanking until they’ve stopped crying hard from the first one. When Clint is only sniffling and hiccuping a little, he continues.

 

“For saying bad words, I am going to give you both 30 spanks with the hairbrush,” he says gently. “Both of you boys know that little boys are not allowed to swear, and that foul language is not tolerated in this house, or anywhere else.” Clint whimpers. Oh, the hairbrush hurts so bad. It’s a wide oval brush, a little bigger around than the palm of Daddy’s hand, which is pretty big, and it’s made of some kind of heavy, dark wood with soft black bristles. Daddy pulls around one of the chairs and sits down on it, between them, because the hairbrush has a short handle and it will be easier for him to reach their tender spots that way. 

 

Clint hears Steve wail a little with the first solid WHAP of the brush on his bottom, and doesn’t have long to wait before he’s letting out one of his own when the nasty, mean thing collides with his own hot, stinging backside. Back and forth, Daddy spanks them hard and steadily, all over their helpless bottoms, down the backs of their legs, and between their thighs, concentrating on their sit-spots and the tops of their thighs where they’ll really feel it tomorrow. He tries to be still and good for his spanking, but the hairbrush just bites and scorches his bottom and legs so bad that he can’t help kicking his feet a little and wriggling his sore backside, howling and crying and begging Daddy to stop. Dimly, he can hear Steve bawling right along with him. But both boys keep their knees firmly planted. Neither one of them wants Daddy to start  _ this _ spanking over from the beginning! 

 

30 spanks seems to take forever, but finally it is over. Daddy takes a few minutes to rub their backs gently, patiently waiting for them to calm down. Again, as he has many times in the past, Clint wishes a little that he could keep crying a lot longer, to put off the rest of their punishment, because he knows it is only going to get worse, and that at the end there will be their punishment for leaving out the part about their fighting this morning (and oh, why could they not have just kept their mouths shut instead of getting mad and arguing over who got to use the purple pencil, and not called each other names or said bad words??). But he never, ever pretends to cry. That’s like a lie, and Daddy punishes lies the worst of all except for if they do things that could get them seriously hurt. 

 

All too soon, it seems, their sobs fade away and Daddy stands up again. He sets the hairbrush on his desk and picks up the next implement he’ll use.

 

“Steve, for being cruel to your friend and hurting his feelings, and Clint, for talking back to your teacher….because I want my boys to learn that the words you say matter, and words can hurt people, and respect for others is very important, I am going to give you 30 strokes with this switch.”

 

“Oh Daddy,” whisper Steve.

 

“Please Daddy,” cries Clint, but Daddy doesn’t respond. There will be no changing his mind. At least he has not increased the number of strokes they’ll get this time, but that’s because the switch he uses is thick and whippy and burns like fire on a little boy’s soft skin. Clint starts to cry again before the punishment even starts. He doesn’t hear it when their Daddy whips Steve with it the first time, because the switch doesn’t make a loud noise like a paddle or strap does. It doesn’t seem right to Clint that something that bites so very hard should make so little sound when it strikes. His only warning is Steve’s miserable wail, and then a moment later a thin line of pure fire appears almost like magic across the middle of his sore bottom. He yowls like he’s been touched with a red-hot wire, and it really feels like he has!

 

Burning stripes paint their punished flesh, one after another. Clint screams a little when the horrid switch wraps around one leg and then the other, the tip biting in between his legs. Because they are bent over  _ so _ far and spread open so very wide by their positions, and the switch is so terribly bendy and flexible, when Daddy whips it across the very bottom of his cheeks, he shrieks as its fiery kiss lands on the terribly sensitive flesh between his bottom hole and his little balls, sobbing and sobbing because he can’t help it, it just hurts so  _ much. _ He cries a lot longer after the switching. Daddy pets and rubs their backs, and tells them that they’re being brave and good. Clint loves hearing those words from Daddy. It helps a little bit, to know he’s being a good boy and taking his punishment well. Just...not  _ very _ much. He’s not nearly ready when Daddy takes his hand away and turns to pick the last implement for their list of confessions. The worst ones.

 

“Steve, because you lied to me about studying hard enough for your test...I will never be unhappy with you for getting a lesser grade on anything, as long as you do your best. You are  _ not _ being spanked for betting a B. If you do your best, I will be proud of you no matter what grade you get. But you told Daddy a lie. Just as you did, Clint, when you said you didn’t hear me calling you to stop playing and come home. One thing you know I will not tolerate is lying. So I am going to give you both 40 spanks with the strap.”

 

Steve hides his face in his arms and his shoulders heave with a little sob. Clint shakes and cries. The strap is nothing like Daddy’s belt, even though it’s also made of leather. It is a lot thicker, and much heavier. It’s two lengths of leather sewn together, with a wooden handle at the end, about two feet long and 3 inches wide. Daddy stands between them at their hips, so he can raise the strap and bring it down from above. There’s a loud CRACK and Clint hears Steve yowl in pain. He clenches his hands into fists, dread tightening his tummy. Suddenly it seems like the whole left side of his backside is set on fire, from the top of his cheek all the way down to the top of his left thigh. He screams and kicks his feet, his toes drumming on the floor.

 

“Daddy, Daddy,  _ hurts _ ,” he sobs.

 

“I know it hurts, baby,” says Daddy, not unkindly. “Punishments are supposed to hurt.”

 

Another loud crack comes, followed by his brother’s sobbing, and then the strap lays its fire down his right cheek and leg. It comes down again and again, heavy and oh, so cruelly punishing, each hard stroke covering the whole curve of their round bottoms and terminating with the rounded, sewn tip biting deep into their legs. That’s awful enough, but Daddy doesn’t spare the middle of their high-thrust backsides. The strap is too wide to go all the way down inside the spread clefts, but its weight still imparts a lot of sting to the as yet untouched skin between their cheeks, and because it is so long, and their legs are spread so wide, it swings down into the forks of their legs, nipping just a little at their smooth, round balls. Clint shrieks in pain. He squeals and howls and sobs as, over and over again, the terrible strap covers his whole naked bottom and the tops of his legs with agony. Daddy only spanks down the center of his cleft a few of the 40 strokes, but those are the worst of all, and his throat is raw and sore with screaming by the time it is done. He hears Steve sobbing and howling too, knowing that Daddy always punishes them equally, and that Steve is hurting just as much as he is. Steve’s balls are bigger than Clint’s. He wonders a little if that makes it hurt more, or less, but mostly he’s too busy just crying and begging for Daddy to stop, to please oh please not spank there. But Daddy does anyway, because no amount of begging ever helps. The inside of his crevice is raw with pain and it throbs between his legs when the strapping is finally finished, and Daddy kneels between them to pet their backs and run his fingers gently through their hair, murmuring gentle words and praises to them that they only barely hear through their tears. 

 

Daddy gives them a long time. They have to be more calmed down before the last of their punishment, Clint knows. Because he knows what it will be, what it  _ always _ is when they leave something off their lists, and it requires not just their obedience in staying in place, but in participating in their own punishment. He doesn’t have to fake crying for a long time. His bottom hurts so bad, and the pain from the strap is going to make the last part harder, and he’s so scared of the last part, and thinks he’d give almost anything for its time to never come. His bottom clenches in fearful anticipation. As his crying inevitably begins to ease, even though he knows it will do no good, he tries to convince Daddy not to do it.

 

“Puh-please Daddy, pl...please….not this time,” he begs.

 

“We’ll ne-never do it ah...again,” sobs Steve.

 

“We pruh-promise! Please Daddy, just this once,” pleads Clint.

 

“Oh  _ please _ Daddy,” says Steve tearfully.

 

“You both know that’s not the way it works. You could have prevented this last punishment, if you had only been completely truthful,” admonishes Daddy, setting the thick strap aside and picking up a much thinner, lighter one. It’s smaller size is of no comfort.  “You’ve both taken your punishment very well, and I’m proud of you, but I need you to be brave for me one more time. You both know what to do. Not another word now, or I will add strokes, and I know you don’t want me to do that.”

 

Oh, Clint doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. Tears well up in his eyes and overflow as he reaches back with trembling hands. Steve whimpers miserably. Clint moans in pain and fear as his shaking fingers dig into the sore, punished skin of his cheeks. With great reluctance, he slowly, slowly pulls them apart, spreading himself even wider than his position already opens him. It stings like mad to touch the strapped skin of his tender cleft. The cool air of the room on his tiny hole reminds him of how sensitive it is, of how much this, the worst punishment of all, is going to hurt. He lays his cheek on the soft plush of the carpet, his tears rolling down to dampen it. 

 

“Now you must both be very brave and good for me, and not let go, no matter how much it hurts. I don’t want to have to start over from the beginning, and I know you don’t want me to have to. We’re nearly done,” says Daddy softly, but his voice is stern. “Do you both understand?”

 

“Yes Daddy,” gasps Steve, his voice thick and wet with tears.

 

“Yes Daddy,” whimpers Clint, hiccuping out a quiet sob. 

 

And then it is time. Steve’s loud cry of pain is his warning. Moments later, the tip of the little strap snaps down right in the center of Clint’s small, puckered little hole where he holds himself open for this final, most awful punishment. He can do nothing to hold back his piteous screams and howls as Daddy slowly and carefully whips each of their tender little holes with the strap. It is made from a fan belt from a car, sturdy rubber that stings and bites so much more fiercely than leather. Each snap of the end of the strap strikes true, sending pain stabbing down deep into his tightly clenched hole. It feels like the pain drills deep inside him. Next to him, his big brother screams just as loud and just as helplessly as his own little pucker burns and throbs. Clint’s bottom hole feels horribly hot and swollen, igniting anew with each carefully aimed lash over his puckered flesh. He digs in hard with his fingers, even though it hurts to do it, because he cannot bear the thought of Daddy starting over again from One. They will receive as many spanks from the fan belt as they’d gotten from the last of their spankings for their confessed misbehaviors. 

 

40 slow, measured, hard spanks that sting and burn and bite the sensitive little bud of furled flesh between his cheeks. 40 times he shrieks and howls between his sobs as the pain grows worse and worse. He longs to let go, to cover his sore, miserable hole with his hands, but he doesn’t. He bawls until he is blind with tears, choking on sobs, snot running from his nose. But it just hurts so  _ much _ to be whipped there, his tiny asshole  _ blazing _ with fiery pain. He wishes Daddy would hurry and get it over with, but knows that Daddy won’t. He won’t hurry, because every stroke must hit its target, or it has to be repeated, so he aims carefully and he pauses when Steve or Clint squirms or kicks or wriggles their hips because they can’t help it, their bodies instinctively trying to escape the awful punishment. In the back of his mind, Clint  _ swears _ that he will never again leave something off his list, no matter how small. His mouth is open on one long, silent scream, drool running down his chin, his hole burning with the fires of hell when Daddy finally lays down the strap and stops. His fingers hurt from clenching his round cheeks so hard, and he  _ has _ to let go, but he wails when his bottom relaxes and the tormented flesh puts pressure on his punished hole, sobbing and sobbing and thinking he will never, ever stop. 

 

Daddy’s strong arms wrap around their shoulders when he moves around in front of them to hug them both and press loving kisses to the tops of their heads. He murmurs words of love and comfort, telling them how good and brave and strong they are. And they  _ are _ good again, their lists of sins wiped clean by their punishment. Clint leans into the comfort of his Daddy’s warm embrace, crying as though his heart is broken, but washed clean of the shame of the things he’d done during the week that he had known would disappoint Daddy. At long, long last their tears slow and begin to dry on their cheeks.

 

Neither of them moves to get up from their positions though, because even though the spankings are over, they both know that there is one more thing still to come before they are truly finished. When Daddy stands up, both boys begin to cry a little bit once more, knowing what is coming, what final thing they must endure. Clint dreads it, but a part of him craves it too, even though he doesn’t understand why that is. He only knows it gives him a funny, squirmy feeling in his tummy even as he clenches in fear of it (and immediately regrets it when his punished hole flares with renewed pain.)

 

Daddy has three things in his hands when he returns. Two are bottles of clear, slightly viscous fluid. The third is a strange, roughly spade-shaped object of flesh-toned silicone. He kneels down behind them and sets the things down. His big, strong hands come up to rub softly at each boy’s left hip.

 

“Now,” he says softly, “which one of you thinks he deserves the plug more this week?”

 

There is a lengthy silence. Clint goes over his list in his mind, thinking hard and comparing it to Steve. The plug is the hardest of the two to take, but it is better when they are honest. They know they won’t be allowed release from what’s about to happen, but if they’re truthful, there will be a reward. If they try to avoid it, no reward will be forthcoming. Clint really doesn’t want the plug, for a very good reason. The slippery stuff in the two bottles is not the same. But in their hearts, Clint and Steve are good boys, and want to please their Daddy more than anything.

 

“I...I disrespected my teacher...a-and that’s worse than being mean to a friend,” whispers Clint. “And I luh-lied to you when I said I di-didn’t hear you, Daddy. And tried to hide our fight.” He’s pretty sure those were the worst things he’d done during the week. “I...I guess I do...do deserve it.”

 

“No,” says Steve, and he sounds scared but kind of determined too. “The lies I told were worse than Clint’s. School is r-really important, and...and so is doing our best. I didn’t do my best,  _ and _ I lied about it, and lied when I didn’t tell you all the truth about this morning. And...and even if lima beans aren’t bad for dogs, I  _ knew _ that there were things that  _ are _ bad for dogs, and I don’t know what they are, and I could have made Daisy sick. Plus….oh, Daddy, that was really another kind of lie too, because I let you think I ate them when I didn’t.” A small sob escapes his lips. Daddy’s hands on their hips squeeze a little.

 

“I’m very proud of both of you right now. But I must agree with Steve. Lying is the thing that makes me feel the most disappointed, and you are right, love. Very well. Steve will be the one who gets the plug this time, but since you both tried to take responsibility for the naughty things you did, I am going to let you both get a very nice reward this weekend.”

 

Clint can’t help it that his shoulders slump a little in relief. What will happen to him will hurt and ache too, but not nearly as much as the plug, and he’s glad it won’t be him this time. It makes him feel a little twinge of guilt though, because poor Steve does have to have it, and he doesn’t like it when Steve cries. 

 

Daddy opens the bottle that goes with the plug. The sharp, fresh scent of peppermint fills the room. Steve bites his lip and whimpers. Clint glances over at his big brother. Steve is so handsome, and big and strong. Oh, he looks scared, but Clint thinks he looks beautiful too. His eyes are so blue, like the sky in summer about an hour before sunset when it is so deep and clear. His lips that Clint loves to kiss are red and swollen where Steve has bitten them. Suddenly he gasps, and Clint knows that Daddy has squeezed out some of the slippery stuff with the peppermint in it and pushed a finger into Steve’s sore hole. Tears start to roll down Steve’s cheeks at the pain from having his punished bottom hole touched. Daddy puts on plenty of the slick stuff, and he coats the wide, flared silicone plug with it as well. He doesn’t use two or three fingers the way he does when this kind of thing is just meant to make them feel good. On Fridays, it is still about making them remember to be good. Daddy touches the tip of the plug to Steve’s sore, swollen entrance and slowly pushes it inside his bottom. Steve whines, then starts to cry as the the big plug widens, stretching his burning hole open as it slides in. The peppermint in the lubricant begins to burn as the plug sinks into him, and Steve’s crying turns into gasping sobs.

 

“Hurts, Daddy,” he cries. “Oh please, it hurts!”

 

“I know, baby. Just a little more,” says Daddy. Steve wails loudly as the widest part of the plug forces his swollen opening very wide, the peppermint oil mixed into the slippery stuff making it hurt even more, then Steve’s hole closes around the neck of the plug and its flange nestles between his spanked cheeks. While Steve sobs, Daddy pulls a thin strip of leather out of his pocket and quickly fastens it around the base of Steve’s cock. Most of the time, they would both be too sore to need such a thing, but not always. Sometimes, even when it hurts, neither of them can help it. Especially because, once the leather strap is snapped securely, Daddy reaches in his pocket again and presses a button. Clint hears a soft, faint buzzing sound coming from the plug inside of Steve, who stiffens and cries out as the plug begins to vibrate in his bottom.

 

Then it is Clint’s turn. His own tears sting the corners of his eyes when Daddy opens the other bottle. His breath hitches in his chest. Daddy carefully wipes off his fingers, then pours some of the lubricant from the other bottle on them. For a moment, the coolness of the slick feels good on Clint’s punished, aching hole, but then he squeals in pain when Daddy firmly pushes his slippery finger inside Clint’s bottom and the pain from being whipped there flares up, hot and stinging. He cries while Daddy makes sure his bottom is wet enough, then sobs a little when he hears Daddy unzip the front of his pants. The warm, firm head of Daddy’s cock presses firmly against his sore little pucker.

 

“Oh Daddy,” he cries, “do you have to?”

 

“Yes, baby, I have to. Relax now,” says Daddy. His voice sounds kind of growly and funny. He reaches down and snaps another one of the thin leather strips around the base of Clint’s penis. It feels a little snug, but not too tight. Not yet. Then his hands settle on Clint’s hips. Clint shivers and tries to bite back a choked sob, which turns into a shrill scream when Daddy very firmly pushes his hardness into his baby boy’s body. Daddy’s cock forces his puffy, red hole open as it slides all the way inside. Clint doesn’t try to hold back his soft sobs as it burns and aches to be forced open this way. His hole feels like a blazing hot little mouth around his Daddy’s cock, sucking it inside even as it suffers. Daddy is still for a moment, allowing Clint’s body to accept the sudden intrusion. He reaches in his pocket and does something to the small remote control device he has there. Clint knows from experience that it makes the plug in Steve’s bottom buzz even harder. Poor Steve moans and writhes, but bravely keeps his knees in place.

 

Then Daddy drags his cock slowly back, back out of Clint’s aching bottom, and Clint has no room in his head to think of Steve’s suffering anymore. He’s too busy howling when Daddy snaps his hips forward and slams his cock hard inside Clint’s body. He sobs as Daddy fucks him hard. Oh, ohh, it aches so bad. His swollen, punished hole burns and hurts, but at the same time, Daddy aims each thrust so that his cock rubs against that funny place inside Clint’s body that feels so good when it’s touched or rubbed or pressed. In a few minutes, even though the tears pour down his face and he cries out from the pain, the ring around his cock begins to feel very tight indeed. It still hurts, oh it does, but he also knows that if it were not in place, Clint would be in very real danger of coming anyway, even though it’s not allowed. And that would be very bad for either of them, if they came from this, the very last part of Friday’s punishment day. It is partly a punishment, and partly a reminder that they belong to their Daddy, every part of them, and that he will do whatever he decides to do with them, to remind them they are his, and to remind them to be good. 

 

And so they accept this final torment, sore and aching, yet also teased to quivering, desperate need, denied release until later on, when it is finally completely over. Clint knows his hole will be sore for a while, but he also knows that later tonight, in Daddy’s big bed, after supper and all the ice cream they want, they will cuddle together and watch a movie that they have all seen before, because none of them will really watch very much of it. Daddy will touch them gently, and give them all the kisses they want. They’ll be allowed to touch each other too, and kiss, and use their tongues to make each other feel good. It will hurt a little when they’re finally allowed release, but they won’t care by then. Nor would they have any of it any other way.

 

Inside this secret house with its secret rooms and this life about which no one else knows, they are completely free of the world and its demands. They are Phil’s beautiful little boys, and he their beloved Daddy who cares for them and brings them joy and fun and pleasure, and punishes them when they are naughty (and they are very often very,  _ very _ naughty). Inside this secret house, no one has ever heard of words like Captain America or Hawkeye, or the Avengers Initiative. Little boys never have to save the world. He closes his eyes and relishes the pain that drives away the stresses of his real life, the dull ache of denied orgasm as delicious with future promise as it is torturous.

 

“I love you, Daddy,” he whispers. 


End file.
